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Paperbird

United States

Future novelist. Harry Potter. Slytherin. Pixar. Hunger Games. INFJ. Clarinet. Way too much imagination.

Message from Writer

"Not all those who wander are lost."
-J. R. R. Tolkien

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Paperbird (United States) published:

Life On A Hillside

FREE WRITING

Sitting on the hillside and really doing nothing;
Maybe playing chopsticks or reading a sad book
Or maybe just sitting there and watching
The inky ants cross through the cracked, dirt-laiden trails.

All around, the sky was topaz blue.
The scenery was puckered into hills, great grassy curls
Like the ground grabbed the sky
And forced it into crumpled waves.

A tear dripped down the soap-smooth cheeks
And onto the nothing in front of you–––
It fell four thousand miles...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 10 hours ago

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1

Paperbird (United States) published:

100 Followers!!!

FREE WRITING

Yesterday I reached a total of 100 followers on this site!  Thanks so much guys!  100 is honestly a crazy number and I wish you all the best in life :D !!!

Shoutouts to:
-RainAndSonder, who is a really great friend in real life as well as a constant supporter of my writing.
-Everyone who has left helpful comments/reviews, including Gabriel Goodwin, Kaitlyn, RainAndSonder, Surly Wombat, LyraLynne, Elizabeth Bennet, Tally, camlily, and Fidgetsally, as well as many others.
-All of...

3 days ago

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7

Paperbird (United States) published:

Night Sky

PROMPT: Improbable Flavor

Tasting the night sky is like eating a firework-–-it explodes and splashes around you the more and more you try to digest it.

Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

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2

Paperbird (United States) published:

Snow Clouds

PROMPT: The Limerick

Snow never falls from the white cotton clouds–––
It drifts seamlessly from much grayer crowds
Splashing, dotting like rain;
White flecks finer than grain
So endlessly perfect, heavens allowed.
 

Seeking Peer Reviews

5 days ago

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Paperbird (United States) reviewed:

Lightning

FREE WRITING

This is a truly brilliant piece of poetry. You have perfect rhyme and syllable measurement. As someone who has tried and failed to write organized poems several times, I can say that this is really remarkable. You convey the meaning...

6 days ago

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Top critic

Paperbird (United States) earned a badge Top Critic

6 days ago

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Paperbird (United States) reviewed:

Summer Is Salt

FREE WRITING

I love this piece; it truly gives me the feel of summer. Great work and keep writing!

6 days ago

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Paperbird (United States) liked A Poem in which Nothing is True by RainAndSonder (United States)

7 days ago

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Paperbird (United States) published:

Snow Clouds

PROMPT: The Limerick

Snow never falls from the white cotton clouds–––
It drifts seamlessly from much grayer crowds
Splashing and dotting like rain;
White flecks finer than grain
So endlessly perfect, heavens allowed.
 

Seeking Peer Reviews

8 days ago

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Default avatar user icon

Paperbird (United States) started following Tbull23 (United States)

9 days ago

Published Work

Life On A Hillside

Sitting on the hillside and really doing nothing;
Maybe playing chopsticks or reading a sad book
Or maybe just sitting there and watching
The inky ants cross through the cracked, dirt-laiden trails.

All around, the sky was topaz blue.
The scenery was puckered into hills, great grassy curls
Like the ground grabbed the sky
And forced it into crumpled waves.

A tear dripped down the soap-smooth cheeks
And onto the nothing in front of you–––
It fell four thousand miles from you and
Seared quickly to nothing as it burned with the fire from the Earth's hard core.

When the world exploded, you really did nothing–––
Maybe just watching or waiting
Or crying bitter tears until it all ended, because it was easy.
The helplessness surrounded you and you welcomed it with open arms and the warmest heart.

God forbid that one day we set foot on the grassy hill
That we watch the sky as you watched it and...

100 Followers!!!

Yesterday I reached a total of 100 followers on this site!  Thanks so much guys!  100 is honestly a crazy number and I wish you all the best in life :D !!!

Shoutouts to:
-RainAndSonder, who is a really great friend in real life as well as a constant supporter of my writing.
-Everyone who has left helpful comments/reviews, including Gabriel Goodwin, Kaitlyn, RainAndSonder, Surly Wombat, LyraLynne, Elizabeth Bennet, Tally, camlily, and Fidgetsally, as well as many others.
-All of you guys for following and liking my work (it means the world to me) and keeping me entertained with your own published writing.

Improbable Flavor

Night Sky

Tasting the night sky is like eating a firework-–-it explodes and splashes around you the more and more you try to digest it.

The Limerick

Snow Clouds

Snow never falls from the white cotton clouds–––
It drifts seamlessly from much grayer crowds
Splashing, dotting like rain;
White flecks finer than grain
So endlessly perfect, heavens allowed.
 

The Limerick

Snow Clouds

Snow never falls from the white cotton clouds–––
It drifts seamlessly from much grayer crowds
Splashing and dotting like rain;
White flecks finer than grain
So endlessly perfect, heavens allowed.
 

In The Summertime

In the summertime, my life was this---
Saltwater pools and diving boards
Flower pots and dirty hosepipes
Flavor drinks and spray cans
Fireworks
Away from home for weeks on end
Waking up sweaty from the sunlit windows
Odd dreams and repeated playlists
Day camps and guitar lessons (both nightmarish)
Sun-filled days and constant emptiness
September hit and it all made sense again.



 

A Slightly Revised Version Of Something That Still Needs A Lot Of Work


    Chapter One
My mother was a wicked girl, wise beyond belief and extravagantly pretty. Her given name was long and awful hard to pronounce, and she was Archie for short, because, as she said with a glower when she was angered, only fools were made of long names.  Archie was sixteen when I was born, highly unconfident and barely off of drugs, and so it was Pops, her father, who raised me, and Pops who was given the parental nickname.
    I understand now Pops’ remarkable patience, his careful wit and his restrained frustration as I was methodically homeschooled year after year of my childhood.  There was always talk of public school, of private and boarding academies, but these ideas were shot down as, year after year, I walked out of academic classrooms sobbing from the anxiety of social pressure.  Homeschooling was never easy either. There were pieces of my education that were missing––Pops was awful with algebra and...

Sparks

It hurt me to think 
That things would be okay because
Of the constant fear
That they wouldn't be and they wouldn't be.
And during the summer days when
The heat beat my back like a bloody stick
And the sparks spread with the forest fires;
Caught in my eyes till I saw blindly and
Set the world aflame.
And during the lost days when
You were gone and I was scared
And reasoning drove me out of my mind
And the sparks were there and they
Got me nowhere, because who can
breathe when the world's on fire?
And during the stormy days when
My joy turned to fear and
Maybe it was all an illusion
But who could tell after all when
all around the world's engulfed
And your eyes are still filled
With those fiery sparks from the summer?

Do Not Die

Do not close your bone-tired eyes, not for the last time–––
Do not rest your weary head on the felt-soft pillow
Do not slip away from trouble, into never-ending solace.
Be not stifled by the sun;
Just let the sun stifle you.

Do not let your loss become you–––
Do not cease to be alone
Do not look for the glowing angel, because she is enlightened
Be not stifled by the angel;
Just let the angel stifle you.

Do not let the winter come around, because winter is comforting---
Do not sense the taste of summer, dying embers on your lips
Do not slip away from hardship, because it's always here with you.
Be not stifled by it all;
Just let it all stifle you.

Razor-Sharp Knives

When I was tired, they hit me–––
Razor-sharp knives that
Chewed through my bones and
Gnawed out my eyes and
Bled through my scabs
Till nothing was left
But anger.

When I was lonely, they fed me–––
Razor-sharp knives that
Burned out my lungs and
Stabbed through my chest and
Filled me with lead
Till nothing was left
But envy.

When I was saddened, they used me–--
Razor-sharp knives that
Flamed up my heart and
Bit through my fear and
Ate out my hope
Till nothing was left except
Good intentions.

I'm The Person

I'm the person who cares too much about a whole lot of things
I'm the person who doesn't care enough about even more things
I'm the person who named every plant in my garden because they felt like friends
I'm the person who walked across the jagged rocks in bare feet because I was too lazy to put on shoes
I'm the person who failed at math class every time because it felt satisfying
I'm the person who sorrows over the small things
I'm the person who wished that pain had a larger vent
I'm the person with too many friends and not enough close friends
I'm the person who's constantly lost in a really good song
I'm the person who wants to run and scream in the pouring rain just because it's fun.

Child Narrator

My Childhood Thoughts


    I was told that everyone needed friends because friends gave you a little blank space in which to store your soul.  I was told that envy was hurt for no reason at all.  I was told that imagination is a wonderful child's play, as harmless as a gust of wind.
    I was told, through all of those things, that my own lone self in all of my envy with my dangerous mind were insignificant, and they would come to pass.  They would.  And yet.  They kept coming back.

Onto My Shoulder

Like green's decease, the autumn came–––
The crumpled leaves fell, whispering secrets
Onto my shoulder, into my eyes and ears
From the tall slim oaks, splashed across the countryside.

Like cold slumber, the winter came––-
The snow rained easily, puffs of flickering smoke
Onto my shoulder, into my eyes and ears
From the steel gray clouds, dotting the sky.

Like perfume's breadth, the springtime came–––
The blossoms caught the wind, dove's feathers
Onto my shoulder, into my eyes and ears
From the color-blessed trees, splashed across the countryside.

Like heat's freedom, the summer came–––
The sunshine beamed in pleasure, rays of warmth
Onto my shoulder, into my eyes and ears
From the lights of above, dotting the sky.

31 Random Things About Myself Because I'm Bored

1. Incurable obsession with Harry Potter that will last forever.
2. Most of my waking hours are spent under the dictatorship of J.K. Rowling.
3. Hufflepuffs are underestimated and Slytherins are misunderstood.
4. Obsessed with fan theories for most things.  For example, did you know that there's a theory that the Hunger Games is based off a history in which the American revolution never took place?  Think about it–--the Brits slowly formed the Capitol and the 13 colonies became the 13 districts.  I personally like to think of New York as being District 1 for luxury and Maryland being 4 for seafood.
5. Apparently there are studies that show that most people's favorite season is summer and their least favorite is winter because the darkness in winter makes them depressed.  Which is weird, because it's summer that makes me depressed and winter that I love.
6.I love TV and movies, except I live under a rock so I...

No Pause for Breath

Hear Me

Please, hear me, hear me when they kill me,
When they drag my body past the ditch
And smear mud across my face;
Hear me when they take me into dank closet corners 
Where we used to dream of stories untold, we were unknowing
Of the oozing blood that stretched the walls;
Please hear me when I die, when someone does
Hear the strangle and the cry, and not just one but both;
Hear me the world ends and everything is lost
And tell me from the other side––-
Somehow, through the rubble
When you found it all again
And you'll at last be ready to hear.

Worlds

There are two worlds in existence, and they are nondescript–––black and white and no grey.  Where their boundaries join, there is still no grey.  Instead, there's green.

Mercy

"Please...don't...hurt...me..." I was gasping between gobs of blood.
They were the last words I ever spoke to her.
I understand now, from my shapeless and inconceivable form, what great mercy she showed me.

My Favorite Quotes From Good Books and Movies and Stuff

Harry Potter:
"Always." -Severus Snape

Hunger Games:
"I don't care if you got knocked up.  I can still rip your throat out." -Johanna Mason

Lords of the Rings:
"You shall not pass." -Gandalf

Maze Runner:
"Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?" -Newt

The Giver:
"Today is declared an unscheduled holiday." -The Speaker

Divergent:
"I am selfish.  I am brave." -Tris


 

For the Future

To Forward Generations

To forward generations---

    When we think of the future, we think of a destructive time: pollution has reached a breaking point, exotic species are extinct, our lands are ruined and shredded from remains of nuclear war.  We think of injustice, we think of intelligence turning to arrogance, we think of untrustworthy machines with brains of their own that humanize themselves into population.
    
    It's possible.  Of course, it's all possible.

    But I have hopes.  A lot of hopes.  For if we look at the past, a hundred years back, it is almost nearly safe to assume the opposite of what we see for a hundred years in the future.

    If we go to the past, back to 1918, things were very different.  For example, in the United States, women were not allowed to vote.  We had racial segregation–––we were barely twenty years away from Plessy v. Ferguson, the case that declared "Separate...

Testing

My mother was a wicked girl, wise beyond belief and extravagantly pretty.  Her given name was long and awful hard to pronounce, and she was Archie for short, because, as she said with a glower when she was angered, only fools were made of long names.  Archie was sixteen when I was born, highly unconfident and barely off of drugs, and so it was Pops, her father, who raised me, and Pops who was given the parental nickname.
    I understand now Pops’ remarkable patience, his careful wit and his restrained frustration as I was methodically homeschooled year after year of my childhood.  There was always talk of public school, of private and boarding academies, but these ideas were shot down as, year after year, I walked out of academic classrooms sobbing from the anxiety of social pressure.  Homeschooling was never easy either. There were pieces of my education that were missing––Pops was awful with algebra and basic in grammar,...

25 Words

Schedule

Wake up.  First thought-------
Eat (important!)
School.  Get lost, don't lose yourself.
Music, vital.
Stressed, but not too stressed.
Too much YouTube.
Dinnertime conversation.
-------kindness.

Place Poem

School Memories

The halls were lit by widely spaced fluorescent lights
Sharp contrast to the sky outside;
The gathering gloom that was once to me so cozy.

The chairs were tucked neatly into their pockets,
Desks, the strewn pencils dropped lazily onto the floor.
These rooms were dark, windows of dormancy.

Happily it was that we ran, that we stomped
Playfully, wildly, seekers and taggers and gamers each.
The memories are faded, and they are priceless.

On the playground, we were countless beasts––-
Cats one day, wolves the next,
The underside of the metal slides protected as a cave and a shelter.

In elementary school, it was back to the classrooms for work:
Addition and subtraction were long-dreaded entities,
Numbers pulled from the minds of the most deceitful.

Later on, it was slopes that bothered us
Forgotten volumes of shapes unheard.
Holding our breath till the clock ticked to snack, then lunch, then dismissal.

Every day of the week was ticked off a...

You Are Fire

    Your mouth is stretched thin as a pencil, your nostrils flared; there is fire in your eyes.  I can see the flickering blue tongues as they control your face, can see them tilted to the heavens, a cry, a plea for rescue.  I can see too what is behind that fire–––the hate and hurt and that you have felt all those years, an uncontrollable vortex of unknown emotion and introspection.  I can see you lost, a dying ember as it falls to Earth, terribly closed.  The lit fire that burned like a candlewick is out of sight now, crumbled ashes scattered across Sun's core.  And I am terribly sure that soon another ember will come.

Shattered, Still Beating

​    My existence feels like a thorn that pokes through the skin of my chest.  I am agony, a sharp knife that will and can only damage.
    My brain feels like a nothing, a mutated shell from which no logic is formed, dashed against the sharpest of rocks and pounded until the sense is squeezed out.
    My soul is a shattered knife of glass, a broken window from which clear things were once viewed, a disappointment, dusty and ragged.
    And yet, through it all, feel the pound of my heart, and notice that nothing bad has happened yet.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Blue World

Maybe we all just live in a blue word, an ocean world,
Our tears, the salty bitterness,
Whispered lies that fall into the eyes of those who wander.
Maybe our voices are submerged by the timely rhythm of the
Crashing waves ashore–––
Swishing and falling until the end of time.
Maybe our world whirls like water around us and we are kept in the loop
By those who love us, and maybe in this magic prison
Deep and heartfelt, there's something golden.

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition

Blue World

Maybe we all just live in a blue word, an ocean world,
Our tears are a salty bitterness,
Whispered lies that fall into the eyes of those who wander.
Our voices are submerged by the timely rhythm of the
Crashing waves ashore–––
Swishing and falling until the end of time.
Maybe our world whirls like water around us and we are kept in the loop
By those who love us, and maybe in this magic prison
Deep and heartfelt, there's something golden.

The Unknown

Life?

I don't know much about life---
What it is or why it is: about its game, its everything, for even those who bear the most wit of everyone bang their head against the edge of a table and mutter constantly to themselves,
"Who would?"

Shoulder

    Eagerly I waited in the darkest of times, my hands folded neatly behind me, waiting for the light to come through–––
    Eagerly I watched as the Sun chose us, one by one–––
    –––as it picked up its children and shoved them onto the shoulders of opportunity–––
    Dismally it was when I realized that it was not my turn.  Dismally when I realized it would never be.  Dismally and eagerly when it was that I would have to make my own shoulder, craftily and with difficulty and out of sheer spite. 

Love As We Know It

    It was over, she knew, with the sky––it had been clear once, and bright beams of sunshine had cast their hope into places of shadow.  Now...now the same beams were pushed aside.  The mist, the fog, the untimely doom–––well, it was all with the sky.
    She sighed, tipping her head to the table, flaking chunks of wood off of her coffee stirrer with the hard of her finger.  The espresso was abandoned on the table in front of her.  She sighed a great gust of air–––"Aye..."  Like pirate's speak, something indistinguishable.
    She had never shared feelings with anyone (well, unless when the sky was clear), never vocalized her doubt.  The small word uttered, the sigh–––it was always a comfort to her, giving even the smallest voice to a world of worry.
    "Please," someone said.
    She looked up suddenly, and standing before her was a girl, smaller, but around the same...

Three Wishes (Random Thing)

    A classic, fairytale-inspired question that many receive randomly is, "How would you spend three wishes that would come true?"
    For young kids, the answers are fantastical and otherworldly––an iPad! A new bike! Tons of money!  Classic fantasies that seem, in the moment, like the key to eternal happiness.
    For slightly older kids, the answer is smarter, more logical––wish for more wishes!  Why be limited, when you could literally have anything that you ever wanted––the dream life, the true key.
    If not either of those, wish for world peace, an end to world hunger, or the safety of all beings.  Selfless, kind, and compassionate, ensuring everyone's eternal happiness.
    
    I have heard all three types of answers.  Countless people who could only ever dream of such a wonderful thing as three wishes.  But there is one thing that I have truly never heard from anyone else–––my answer.  Which is to take...

Monostitch

The End of the World

The sailor tumbles helplessly to sea as the sky turns unevenly to dust-colored smog.

I, Me

    An impossibly big imagination filled with uncreative aspects.  Attached to something so easily a break is torture, and depression ensues.  So many plans for the future my head might burst before my heart does.

- RANDOM FICTION -

It was April that Ma locked the trunk, stuck her boots down the snowy slope and decided to send me away.  And April in North Canada en't nothing special––the scenery all in white and brown, the scents unchanged but for the frozen honey and the smell of dead roses crushed to bits to make liquor, trailing from Ma's basement in the dead cold of winter.  I was happy as I'd ever been, the long treks from the Robinsons to the Baileys and back again, heaving itchy sacks of coarse cotton flour to the space between the doormat and the boxes where the rotten apple pies used to dry away.  But, as it had always been, Ma had the control over everything––-over me, over the estate, over the dollar-paying summer jobs that made my hair crawl with lice in the summer.  She had the prosperous authority that was so handy to her in the worst of ways, and she had those...

- RANDOM FICTION -

It was April that Ma locked the trunk, stuck her boots down the snowy slope and decided to send me away.  And April in North Canada en't nothing special––the scenery all in white and brown, the scents unchanged but for the frozen honey and the smell of dead roses crushed to bits to make liquor, trailing from Ma's basement in the dead cold of winter.  I was happy as I'd ever been, the long treks from the Robinsons to the Baileys and back again, heaving itchy sacks of coarse cotton flower to the space between the doormat and the boxes where the rotten apple pies used to dry away.  But, as it had always been, Ma had the control over everything––-over me, over the estate, over the dollar-paying summer jobs that made my hair crawl with lice in the summer.  She had the prosperous authority that was so handy to her in the worst of ways, and she had those...

Op-Ed Competition 2018

Humanity

    I stand today not as a feminist, an anti-racist, nor as an LGBTQ-ist (if there is such a thing), but simply as a humanist.  And I love the term humanist, because it is a great umbrella-––a shelter for all humankind, a refuge for everyone, any person, whether hateful, good, or underestimated.  
    Not one singular group deserves more attention than the other; one crowd should not be raised more than its fellow, advocated more fiercely for, or set as a normative default for competence level.  We are all humans, and humans have several flaws––unknowing assumptions, several people set lower in society.  Such is inexplicable and unavoidable.
    And perhaps we're not all as different as we think.  Perhaps we all hold a little fear in our hearts, of difference, of a challenger who brings a supposed bliss into otherworldly perspective.  Perhaps, even in an individual utopia, there are those somewhere in the world who are being beaten, bullied, and...

Acrostic Verse

Time

The world, it's a funny thing, it turns round, round, till the clocks don't matter,
If change is time and time is change, how do I find the hours going by so quickly in the predawn times which are now?
Maybe if I close my eyes and sleep and sleep till the dreams don't come and the locust tree crawls with rot,
Endings will be short and happy, that finalized time––-or maybe just another dream.

In Motion

Twitch

The bird twitches, quivers unceremoniously on the spot, ducks, and launches into the crisp air quite suddenly, like a small dart weaving between atmospheres with a thick, sharp point.

Walking

Marching

    They didn't move as one, but as many.  The avenue was crowded, closed down, teeming with people.  Steam flew into the air, issued out of the mouths of the loudest people.  In the sky, the smoking tendrils tentatively touched their components, their fellows and rivals; they swarmed like bees, they exploded midair in showers of sparks.  The people began to move, marching, a rhythm, a loud conga drum.  A display, like music––the dancers moving forward, and the musicians.  One rhythm but many singers––words filled the air, the feet moved all at different times, and yet, strangely, it was a movement together.

Blanket

On the weekends I'd give myself an hour more
to sleep peacefully in the breaking dawn (the sky's yellow yolks coming into bloom).
And when I'd wake, the sun would come streaming like milk,
filling me with something golden, like light,
covering me in nature's blanket.

Friendship Tweet

And Forgiveness

Friends are those to laugh on, cry on, lie to, rely on, and hate with all your heart when the time needs; forgiveness comes after.

Black Hole

black hole
ˈˌblak ˈhōl/
noun
ASTRONOMY

  1. a region of space having a gravitational field so intense that no matter or radiation can escape.
    • informal
      a place where people or things, especially money, disappear without trace.
      "the moribund economy has been a black hole for federal funds

    What we think we know are stars, pinpoints of direction and fierce light that throw the world into sharper focus, something beautiful.

    Between the stars, somewhere, is a black hole, that eats us, twists us, turns us into strong strands that weaken and die, and time freezes.  In reality, the majority of us live, blinded, in a black hole, normal from birth and turning to strands every minute.

    But somewhere, there are stars.  Somewhere, there are galaxies and solar systems and life and clouds of dust that will form into something beautiful.

    And maybe it doesn't take technology.  Maybe it isn't the obvious answer of incredibly...

Snow

It started with one, twirling to lessen, dying at first touch
instinctively following its cycle, softening to dew and warning
days of rain to come.
Yet one is never enough.  In the blink of an instant,
the heartbeat of the inexplicable moment, a wave rises,
a tantrum unfurls---the war of color as it
strains and dies.

 

Canvas

At birth, we are stretched across a canvas
Our fingers bloodied with the poisoned paint;
There's a mark, here and there
Something significant, like a splash of green.
And the years pass, and the sun sets and then it dies,
And every day with a new color:
The slackers, the thrivers, and things just right.
But in the end, it's not what's there;
It's the spaces in between.

Raindrops

This is what I know;
And when the gentle tick of raindrops on
the window ends,
And when the waste turns to lumps turns to heaps turns to monsters;
just know, it was always meant to happen.

Love in 13 Words

Despite Everything

It's the trees–– they stand so pridefully and root themselves willingly, despite everything.

Monster Flash Fiction Competition 2018

An Apparition at the Closet

There is something in my closest.
    Monsters lurk in closets, of course; everyone knows that.  I'm not sure if this is a monster.  I know my monster, and he hides under the bed––he is big and brave and only bad when he needs to be.  His name is Calvin, but I can only pronounce the front part of his name.
    To my friends, monsters are big and scary and have lots of teeth and lots of eyes.  But monsters are nice, and only I know it.  And there can only be one nicest monster in the world and he is Calvin.  And I know that it wouldn't be fair for one girl to have the nicest monster under her bed and the second-nicest monster in her closet.  So I think maybe the thing in my closet is a much nastier one.

    It is autumn, and the leaves on the trees are the same color...

Solastalgia

Robin

    One fresh March maybe five years ago, we paraded around in the already-sticky weather, licking ice cream sandwiches and talking gaily about matters only relevant to second graders.  We were close, clique-y, and extremely imaginative, for better or worse.  We had an array of odd games––one day, we were part of a wolf pack; the next day we were warrior cats, and the day after that we were stray dogs that performed at rock concerts and lived in large houses.
    That day we came across a bird, a small robin, with its feathers all rumpled and its posture twisted funny, and that made us curious.  Was it injured, or was it just extraordinarily friendly, for when we approached it, it did nothing but hop on a weak ankle and moan softly.
    It was, on the whole, a little scary, so exciting as it was to be friends with birds, we strode back around the...

Breaking Away, Chapter 2

Chapter Two
    
    There are a large number of stars in the universe.  Scientists estimate three billion stars in the Milky Way alone, plus about a hundred billion alien planets, and several moons.  But the Milky Way is only one galaxy; in the Triangulum Galaxy, there are forty billion stars and who knows how many alien planets.  In the Andromeda Galaxy, there are one billion stars.
    
These large numbers seem easy to grapple with at a first try.  That’s why we shorten so many digits to easy words, like “billion” or “trillion.”  But when you think about them?  One billion is a large number, a very large number indeed.  A room that could fit one billion people would have to be miles of space.  If you counted to one billion, a number at a time, you’d be here a long, long time.
    
These large numbers used to fascinate me.  I would look for amazing statistics...

Breaking Away, Chapter 1

I don’t remember––not one thing.  These sorts of things might not be retrievable, and when I try to retrieve I find odd things.
    My essence is captured in something far beyond what I am.  Something that I am not adjusted to, though I can’t imagine why.  Anything before this––and there must have been a before––is shapeless, something to grasp at but never to hold.
    When I try to remember, I find colors.  Big reds and oranges and somber blues.  Great blurry blobs that stir memories deep inside me, but nothing ever unfolds into truth.
    
    I receive constant information.  Large strands of words, sentences without beginning or end, all plain knowledge, all randomly pulled from spaces unknown.  These words are written everywhere, printed into space so all can see them.  See them, know them, have no way of blocking them out, and never do anything else.  This information fills every crack and corner, and obscures everything....

Breaking Away, Prologue

Prologue
    Dreams.
    Odd things like dreams.  Barely real, just another universe, just around a corner, impossible to see again.
    Hands.  Hands that are used, hands that do odd things--correlation with the mind, even stranger.  Hands that seize; slick hands that perspire to a glow.  Hands that grasp that corner, try desperately to reach it--scrape, blister, cut around jagged edges, hands that bleed and burn.  Hands that never reach around the corner.
    Those hands your hands.  Those dreams are your dreams.  That corner is yours.  This is your story.
    You are human.
    
We know of humans.  We know of many, many things.  We know of sky and clouds and earth and sun and such things that are never mentioned more than once.  We know of dying, of lying stricken and bleeding and staring eyes that never see.  We know so much--so, so much, so much more than you do.
You are ours.

Our existence...

Streetlights

Street lights blink like cat's eyes, weaving
a world in and out of sharper focus, 
and the dim space between.
 

My Favorite Lines from Harry Potter

"No, a brutal triple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding." -Ron Weasley

"Have a biscuit, Potter." -Minerva McGonagall

"Well, you can't break an unbreakable vow." -Ron Weasley

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure." -Albus Dumbledore

"It unscrews the other way." -Minerva McGonagall

"Are you quite sure you wouldn't like a cough drop, Delores?" -Minerva McGonagall

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore?" -Arabella Figg

"We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one, and Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!" -Peeves




 

“In January”

In January

In January, light is dark
and the stars twinkle overhead--a little too brightly,
in their glory.  I can see this clearly, lying blankly between the sheets,
face pressed, towards the window;
The snow not yet melted, clumped in watery heaps on the rooftops,
near the chimney and the heating vents.
The air still tastes of smoke, and despicable things;
and if you stick your head into the freezing air,
you'll taste the ice--imprisoned flecks of dirt,
water without its wander,
as it stirs its way down your throat.

Snow

It started with one, twirling to lessen, dying at first touch,
instinctively following its cycle, softening to dew and warning
days of rain to come.
Yet one is never enough.  In the blink of an instant,
the heartbeat of the inexplicable moment, a wave rises,
a tantrum unfurls---the war of color as it
strains and dies.

 

Late America, Part One

Running for president is not an easy feat.
    I could choose to run for a lot of things.
    Congress.  Vice president, heck.  The court.  Oh god, don't even mention the court.
    But I chose to run for president.  In a highly evolved democracy four thousand years old.  No, that's an exaggeration.  No one would let me hear the end of it when I said our democracy was a four thousand years old.  I mean, how idiotic could I be?  The democracy is three thousand nine hundred and eighty-nine years old.  I mean, duh.
    Yeah, I chose to run for president in a democracy that's been around for three thousand nine hundred and eight-nine years.  Bad idea?  Um.  We've seen hundreds of presidents.  Millions (that one was a joke).
    Point is, we've seen everything at this point.  And the nation is still going.  If you're bad, there's gotta be someone who's...

Intentions and Invocations

Turning

May we all shift a little--
just a little, not too much--
for when the biting cold December
turns in an instant to January's frost,
some will pledge unreality,
in the comic year to come:
'May I be not me, but something else,
something better,
my staple gun or a lovely plant pot?'
Be not so; the cold twists you away
and morphs you
fills you with fantastic daydreams--nightmares--
 and when summer comes
again you're in the same spot as one turn ago--
frazzled, grayish,
and nearly dead with the thought of it.

My New Year's Resolutions

I know as I'm writing this that I will never do any of these once a few weeks have passed.

1. Practice musical instrument every day.

2. Actually work on the novel I started.

3. Become the best in my family at ping pong.

4. Get all As, all the time, in school.

5. Never miss any school unless I have a fever or an appointment or something.

6. Become a better writer.

7. Spend more time reading and actually complete my impossibly long reading to-do list.

Ode To A Stray Cat On My Porch


Looking out of the window
On a stormy day,
I glance down
At the porch
The porch
Where a stray cat
Is sitting.
The cat
Is as skinny
As a small tendril
As ferocious
As a scared lion
As solemn
As a preacher
At a funeral.
Its great tabby markings
Are blurred
By streaks of mud
And spiked
By rain
And still
This skinny, ferocious, solemn beast
Lives on.
A beast
Which does not panic
As a raindrop
Splashes his nose
But cleverly
Finds shelter
And safety.
He stays
On my porch
And watches
The surrounding world
As the great owl might
For the difference is only
That the owl
Has wings
To carry him
Home
And this cat
Finds home
Wherever
He is.

Intersection

Ivy

There is ivy that creeps up my
oak wooden doorframe,
something like mistletoe
that keeps me wondering.
Forty miles from this city,
the ivy's twice as much,
but here in its heart,
lively and beating,
that ivy's still the same.

Raincloud

I am a raincloud;
I feel only wind and rain,
countless men who have bowed
to the heavens above me.

Their stares circle past me,
past the wind and the rain,
if life were a lime tree,
I am the mother of its seed.

And the men who have bowed
break my heart more than
Mother Earth would allow;
For without me you are nothing.

My Opinions on Some Controversial (and not) Things

1. I am very disappointed with American politics at the moment.

2. This is a bit random, but I hate how nail polish looks.

3. Humanity should have no default.

4. Also a bit random, but I've never really understood why Percy Jackson is such a big series.  I personally don't think that modernistic/kid-friendly style of writing is very appealing.

5. Harry Potter is life.

6. JK Rowling is queen, but I hate how she decided to continue the Harry Potter story.  I know lots of Potterheads have been yearning for sequels, but I personally strongly dislike The Cursed Child and the Fantastic Beasts movies (particularly the former).

7. I know this has been said a bunch of times, but why the biases in our world?  What does it matter of race, religion, gender, physical condition, mental condition, sexual orientation, age, or anything else?  Let's all just respect each other as human, please.

(This writing piece is not meant to...

Life in the Gray World

    The stop sign is gray, as strange as that sounds.  Everything's gray.  The grass is stained and splattered gray by the careless painters; the mess escapes their notice.  Painters especially love gray.  They paint it everywhere.  All over the city.  All over my life.
    It is a Tuesday, and therefore a Tuesday as usual.  My day is waking up, driving to work in a patched-up vintage car, ancient and considered beneath my class, and immediate meetings with Doctor Carson.
    Carson is the sort of man that overlooks everything and does everything.  He has a polished mustache that's high on his lip (too high), sharp eyes that squint often (too often), and a polished haircut (too polished).  And he talks a lot.
    I sit through hours of paperwork.  I was told by my focus teacher that during these sorts of high-concentration times my surroundings are supposed to be irrelevant and unnoticed.  It goes...

What If

What if we all just wore masks over our faces, the exact same color every time?  What if we were all the same height, and all had the same abilities, and everybody looked just the same?  What if when we talked to each other physical appearance and physical ability and tone of voice didn't matter?
    What if two people got really close, and they had masks over their face the whole time.
    If the masks weren't there, would they treat each other the same?

Cat

The cat, curled up by the window's pearly
shimmer, cast light shed in the long shadows of winter,
hazel eyes dim and sleepy,
curled up into something tiny,
tail drooped gently onto the floor below.

Intersection

Ivy

Smoky billowing wisps that clear the sky of
its azure tendencies, the clouds
are all over, all over the city,
all over the country,
and even the trees are moaning.

WILD

Wild

She tore through the uneven grasses as though a herd
were charging with her, her eyes gleeful
wild, free, the same
sparked shade as her
spirit.

Inkling

His face was just an inkling
in his shaggy mess of a beard and of a man,
And his coffee that he drank every
morning when the sun was a new beam
wasn't real coffee;
it co-existed in no existance with him.

Uneven

    The man leaned forward broadly, the waxy hollows beneath his eyes glistening ominously in the oily light.  The bristly stubble on the scars of his chin had not had time to grow into evenness; he was in form rather uneven.  One leg just an inch past his other foot, and he walked with a cane; one rust-colored iris and one faintly black pupil twitched at every so often, just enough to contrast with its other, and so he blinked agitatedly, winking sometimes at the stained brown coffee table that he stared at so often.  He paused in his regular routines just often enough to be extraordinary, his rusty eyes fixed in some long -gone concentration.  And then it was gone, and he stirred discontentedly at the chipped wooden coffee cup just to the right of the spoon.

Crimson

A lone sailboat crossing an ocean of many an azure wave,
The salt-stained water tainted crimson with the setting sun's disease;
White sails flashing like teeth, but dirty in their joints;
And a lone sailor equally crimson with a paler complexion
Watching gently with the waves as the sea never ends.

Snowflake

A snowflake rocking back and forth, falling
wispily like haze, barely nothing in the cloudy skies.
And so winter moves ever forward,
twirling solos and barely nothing in the whole,
just like its snowflakes.

Crimson

A lone sailboat crossing an ocean of many an azure wave,
The salt-stained water tainted crimson with the setting sun's disease;
White sails flashing like teeth, but dirty in their joints;
And a lone sailor equally crimson with a paler complexion
Watching gently at the waves as the sea never ends.

Crimson

A lone sailboat crossing an ocean of many an azure wave,
The salt-stained water tainted crimson with the setting sun's disease;
White sails flashing like teeth, but dirty in their joints;
And a lone sailor equally crimson with a paler complexion
Watching gently as the waves as the sea never ends.

Hello Goodbye

    The two were halfway down the clunky cobble road when one faced the other and they were locked in glares.
    "Hello?" A tentative whisper.
    "Goodbye."  The second opened their mouth, wide, saying something else, and all that came out was again, "Goodbye."
    "I just wanted to say hello...goodbye, then..."
    They crossed the street, and turned in separate directions.  Their paths had been diverted for now.  Not forever.  Go, go, go.  No, stop.  Through the wispy, hazy streets.  Even hazier now.
    "Yes."  The first had talked themselves into it.  "Yes."
    The second was talking themselves out of it.  "No.  No."

Hello Goodbye

    The two were halfway down the clunky cobble road when one faced the other and they were locked in glares.
    "Hello?"  A tentative whisper.
    "Goodbye."  The second opened their mouth, wide, saying something else, and all that came out was again, "Goodbye."
    "I just wanted to say hello...goodbye, then..."
    They crossed the street, and turned in separate directions.  Their paths had been diverted for now.  Not forever.  Go, go, go.  No, stop.  Through the wispy, hazy streets.  Even hazier now.
    "Yes."  The first had talked themselves into it.  "Yes."
    The second was talking themselves out of it.  "No.  No."

Braided, Chapter 1

Chapter One
    
    What is matter?
    
    Matter surrounds me.  Weird matter.  Matter that doesn’t even exist.
    
    Darkness.
  
    I am trapped in darkness.
    
    If I knew what I looked like, I would know that I am fifteen years old.  I have a lot of black hair, braided into twists.  I have dark brown eyes.  I am pretty.  But I know none of this.  I don’t have a memory––not much of one, anyway.  Things are blurry.  I can remember colors––bright reds and splotches of blue, fragments that were once faces, buried deep within me.  I am unopened.  I am a closed flower.  I am surrounded in petals.
   
    This existence is black and white.  I don’t know how I got here, in this place of subconscious reality.  I am barely aware of my own thoughts.  Darkness is everywhere, and small gray blobs float in space, and nothing is really distinct, like the blackness...

Braided, Prologue

Prologue
    
    We are not humans, and we are one.  Our brains think as one.  Our brains connect to other brains and correlate in most odd ways.  Our minds are odd shapes in the darkness of Thought.  Thought is nothing.  We know this as one; we are united.  Our minds are connected by a thick strand like a telescope, and we can see everything.  We can prod.  We can try to correct, and we can see directly into one another and know and think.
    
    We are braided, in spirit.  Thick pieces, not like our telescopes, wrap around each other.  They connect us.  We do not have a choice, and we do not mind.
    
    We are mischievous creatures.  Our very existence proves our tendency to defy the unspoken rules.  We collect the rules.  We put them in a basket, and we sling the basket high in the air, and we let the rules fall...

Tears

O'er the mountains and the hard rock formations,
He took me there once when things were happier
And the birds sang and the stones were crimson with the glowing sunset.
And now no mankind shall step foot;
The rocks are crimson with sun's tears.

Why I Write

Why I Write

    My writing is my haven, but a dangerous one.  I am the ruthless, unpredictable dictator.  For once, everything is at my fingertips.

untitled

my mind is one energetic wave length of light
my face is scabbed internally
externally i am okay
but everything matters in actions

Crease

In a small town shaded by many a willow, tattered and tainted by the unpleasant raggedness of the scene, where the sunlight was the best light affordable and the moonlight was barely enough, there was a distress among the people.  They moved about so happily they should have been carefree, but such a gift as to be unworried was too good a fortune.  They smiled, they laughed, they waved, their throats perhaps stricken slightly by fever or hoarse from the shouts of the market.  Yet there was always a crease between their eyes, sometimes small, sometimes not, a small dent in the oily skin that showed more than anything else that things were not entirely carefree.  Not as they should be.
    The people were in some distress at the moment, lots of them, all at once, because when one screams and it rings and echoes through the air things are never at peace.  And so it was that...

Peace?

Somehow it's easy to imagine a world where everyone, everything is at peace
People wish for it and throw hopeful seeds in the air
Stick a silly label on it and call it World Peace.
The truth is we're scattered by our ignorance
By our belief that we're right and they're wrong and they've got to change
By our terrible ideas that bind the book of politics,
Our tiny little boxes, categories everyone is fitted into with a place and a purpose.
So maybe it shouldn't be so easy to think of World Peace, for it is wonderful
And it deceives us, it dashes our hopes against hard and cruel edges.
And it could never happen, for the tension in the air
The bitter feelings we taste as we breath, the terrible sickness, our downfall and our terrible wishes
Will never go away, and World Peace is a silly hope, a child's dream.
Unless.

A Thing Based Off Of A Dream I Had

I don't know what happened to me.
    I am a normal kid.  Fourteen years old––almost fifteen.  I have a lot of thick hair.  I have this habit of squinting up my eyes when I'm nervous, and biting my nails.  My face is darkened from the beach last summer.
    Believe me, I don't know what happened to me.
    One day it just sort of––I don't know.  It struck me.  Power.  Lots of power.  And suddenly I could do anything I wanted.  Like, anything.  If I wanted my homework done without actually doing it, it would do itself.  If my grandmother didn't put enough milk in the cereal, I could make it milkier.  If I shattered a plate, or spilled some water, or broke the lead on my pencil, it would fix itself.  The plate would mend itself and fly back to the shelf.  The water would evaporate the moment it touched the floor.  The pencil...

Fernweh

Word

Novoxisus
Noun
Definition: An exchanged look that says a lot of things without speech.
Origins: Vox=sound, visus=sight, non=no
 

unflourished

People asked him why he looked so odd.  His eyes were blurred as though by a vast length of water, their whites barely white, the irises dashed across the pupil like they were seared into his lids.  His mouth was a small hole.  His ears were boxes, amplifiers that received sound and sound alone.
    Every time they asked, he got angrier.  He shouted at them.  He was a lone child, standing far apart from anyone else, a fallen, disfigured walnut under the tree that was everything.  He yelled terrible things at them, in such projection they shrank back, tumbling across the leaf-strewn grass to the cluster of familiar vegetation.  They were cowards that way.
    He was not a coward.  He stood by, his neck straight and his ears perked and his face fierce like a lion.  As a lion his features looked different, proud, not human.  As a lion he could be anything, until he returned...

Skating

Her presence was like ice.  I could sense it in her.  Her cold, sharp eyes were the icicles, and her large feet and strong knees were the ice skates, gliding back and forth.  She almost moved to the rhythm of skating.

Ten Words to You

Just Home

It's winter and it's wonderful; at last things are cold.

Ten Words to You

Just Home

It's winter and it's wonderful, at last things are cold.

Setting as Mood

Street

The place felt different now, unknown and faceless.  The streets were paved with grime.  The stench of cigarette smoke clung to the air.  The sky itself had turned a downcast, hazy shade of gray.  The buildings were little better.  Every one of them was decrepit, and looked as though it hadn't been used for a few decades.  One storefront held items that must have once been lively and colorful, but now matched perfectly with the surroundings: a squashed rubber duck, crumpled to a heap; a chipped teacup with the handle missing; a worn hat whose silk had all torn off.  Robbie walked up and down the streets, his face bent, kicking hard at a dislodged pebble.  It was as though he had been there a century ago, when the sky was still bright and the shops were full of lively activity.  He sat down, his hands scraping against the slabbed ragged sidewalk.  His very weight seemed to make it sag...

A Writing Piece?????

We are not humans, and we are one.  Our brains think as one.  Our brains do connect to other brains and correlate in most odd ways.  Our minds are odd shapes in the darkness of thought, because thought is nothing.  We know this as one.  Our minds are connected by a thick strand like a telescope, and we can see everything.  We can prod.  We can try to correct, and we can see directly into one another and know and think.
    Our spirits are braided, and we know this as one.  We have no braids but if we did our spirits would be braided.
    We are mischievous creatures.  Our very existence proves our tendency to defy the unspoken rules.  We collect the rules.  We put them in a basket, and we sling the basket high in the air, and we let the rules fall and fall forever.
And there’s a story, too.  There’s always a story.
We know...

Hogwarts House Quotes (A Very Random Piece)

    Have you read Harry Potter?
    If not, none of this will make sense.  If so (good for you!) read on.
    I've compiled a list of quotes that describe each Hogwarts House in my opinion.  I don't really know why I wrote this piece, I just found some really good quotes and wanted to share them.  Below is a description of each House and why I think the quotes match the House's culture.  If you've already read my piece on my interpretation of the Hogwarts Houses, you'll know that this sort of fits into that.

Ravenclaw:
"Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will." -James Stephens
"Curiosity is not a sin." -Albert Einstein
"Never be afraid to sit awhile and think." -Lorraine Hansberry
"Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers." -Voltaire

Slytherin:
"We fail?  But screw your courage to the sticking place and we'll not fail." -William Shakespeare (Macbeth)
"Ambition is the path to success.  Persistence...

A Night Symphony

The night was beautiful.  The frame fitted waves of indigo tundra, speckled by tiny golden stars.  The air was sweetly scented, like perfume, but not perfume, and he stood here breathing it in hard through his nose as small tears rolled down his cheeks.
    He sobbed bitterly, some mixture of snot and bile filling his throat and subsiding again, his aspects gurgling, bubbling like a stream.  A soft stream, whose gentle rushing was almost like music.
    And music did play loudly, distantly, the blaring sounds coming from far off, the tune dazzlingly familiar, and yet, the tune was nowhere.  The rhythm of his heartbeat was almost like percussion, a base conga in a symphony of pieced-together sounds, and the sleepy sparrows sang the melody, the night owl hooted a harmony.  Subconsciously.
    And the boy stopped crying, though tears gushed from his eyes.  His burnt blackened hair was askew and his eyes were red and...

Facts/Opinions About Me

1. I have a weird obsession with office supplies.
2. I have two cats.  I don't really care about the dog vs. cat wars, but if I had to take a side, it'd be cats.  Not that I have anything against dogs.
3. HARRY POTTER...Need I say more?
4. Slytherin.
5. I really like the feel of fuzzy fabrics.  I'll search through clothing stores just to find the soft things.
6. I support the Oxford comma in all of its being.
7. I like both writing and reading, but I'm not a super voracious reader.
8. I love photography.
9. My favorite candy is Three Musketeers.  Not because I like the taste, just because of the name.  Admittedly (using the same logic), Nerds are pretty good too.
10. Fidget spinners saved my life.
11. I'm that Shakespeare geek.
12. Twelve is my lucky number.

Open Prompt

Things

Just a cat sitting by a
window, the sunlight creating
spots on the glass,
shadowed by a maze
of branches,
blackened in the
morning light.

Just a worker crossing the
fields, calloused hands
dirty and veined,
handling the corn with
abstract worry,
tanned brow furrowed
over long-forgotten
things.

Just a star sitting
hazily in the coming
darkness, a pinprick of light
in a darkened atmosphere,
so different from its
neighbor but
regarded with the
same blind eye.

A Letter

Dear Sir Broatt,
    I know you wanted my daily input on my adventures in this universe, and, as usual, I have much to tell--ever since you told me the multiverse theory was true, I have been undergoing the rare experience of everything.
    This place is so odd.  Unlike our world, the air is riddled with sounds.  It seems people love to talk--they just throw their words out in their air so casually, even useless ones.  More than once I've had a stranger bump into me, and they actually told me they were sorry.  It was the strangest thing!  And the businessmen--much like in our world, sell bottled water and trashy things on the street, but you've no idea how often they shout.  Those people won't stop shouting, "Ice cold water for one dollar!"  You'd think one time is enough!  I'm surprised these people aren't mute, they use their voices so often.
    Another thing that's...

Open Prompt

Things

Just a cat sitting by a
window, the sunlight creating
spots on the glass,
shadowed by a maze
of branches,
blackened in the
morning light.

Just a worker crossing the
fields, calloused hands
dirty and veined,
handling the corn with
abstract worry,
tanned brow furrowed
over long-forgotten
things.

Just a star sitting
hazily in the coming
darkness, a pinprick of light
in a darkened atmosphere
so different from its
neighborhood but
overlooked with the
same blind
eye.

A Yellow Submarine

    Introduction:
    So I was just listening to the Beatles song "Yellow Submarine."  And I was thinking, what would we do if we actually did live in a yellow submarine?  Where would we go?  And then I wondered what it would look like through the windows, and what would be in the submarine, and who would be there.  So I wrote this, just as a sort of fantasy dreamland type thing, of what it would be like in a yellow submarine, and it sort of turned into an interesting and dark setting, with a character.

   
    Floating.  Not through space, like you might expect, through water.  But really, how different are water and space?  Actually, we're floating through lots of things.  Time, for instance.  And we're probably floating through a dozen chemicals, natural ones, in the ocean.  Yes, we're all truly living in a yellow submarine.  Not that I would know whether or not it was yellow, because...

Thanksgiving


Forks on the right
Better put your knives there too
(you'll be needing them).
Bread stuffing
Well, some like chestnut.
And pumpkin pie,
Drop the seeds in your
neighbor's glass
(if you don't want them).
Turkey's a classic,
particularly the drumsticks
that spout grease
and something worse.
The dog that nibbles food
from the floor
will have the fullest belly
of all.
Light a candle,
sing some songs
(if you're musical).
To everyone,
this is the dream: to be
grateful for everything
that comes to your life
but mostly
just to have the turkey.

untitled

Happy Thanksgiving!  

 

Some Things I Am Thankful For

    WARNING: THIS PIECE CONTAINS A LOT OF RANTS ABOUT HARRY POTTER, AND IF YOU HAVE NOT READ HARRY POTTER, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO CONTINUE.   

   I'm thankful that Earth exists, in many different ways.  I'm thankful, because it's the only planet to hold life, and without it, we'd all be nothing.  I'm also thankful that Earth held a form of life smart enough to build advanced civilizations and create sophisticated language, because I really like being human.  I'm also thankful that the Earth is tilted––however random that is--because without it we wouldn't have seasons, and it would be really sucky for our economy.

    I'm thankful for the regular things--and these things are cheesiest so I'll get them over with now--for my family, and my cats, and all of my extended family, and everything.  I'm thankful that I can have food and water and all of that, and I'm also really really thankful that I have regular access...

Names for Nature

Sardines

    One place I do seem to remember well was tiny park, connected to some small Christian college in the neighborhood.  The park must have had a name, at some point, but I don't remember it now.  What I can remember is lots and lots of hide-and seek, tag, and hide-and-go-seek-tag, with my mom and sister.  Beaten concrete sidewalks for paths.  A maze of small bushes, prickly and untrimmed, perfect for sneak attacks.  I can remember inhaling the scent of dirt and getting leaves stuck in my hair with my breath puffed out in front of me, crouching behind those bushes.
    We went there every season.  In summer, when my sister and I were alone in the house together, we would walk around the neighborhood and somehow find ourselves in that park, wrinkling our noses at the spiderwebs sewn between the fence gates, laughing and screaming as we threw ourselves behind oaks and maples while we played tag.  In...

Your Voice: Globalization

Untitled

We are all humans, so why do we care so much, about race, sex, religion, class...We've invented weapons to blow up the whole world, and the person that delivers the final blow will just be getting revenge on someone who disagrees with them.

Flash Autobiography

Banjo Twang

I have a task.  I'm almost upstairs, on the second to last step, covered in the center by a carpet and otherwise very dusty (I've found dead bugs before), and my cat runs into me.  The silly devil.  Not my squeaky, soft cat whose presence seems rather like a sticky spoon of honey, but the other one, with the crazy mind and the big belly and the head that's a little too small.  The fur that's gray––though lots call it brown, and that's just wrong.  She's my cat, so she has gray fur.
    She's the sweet one.  Not sticky, honey-sweet like the other one, but the mumbling, rumbling, cute one whose presence is subtle except when she's in a bad mood.  Then, of course, everyone notices her.  People are idiots, sometimes.
    I rub her belly, and she purrs.  Her purr sounds like the country twang of a banjo, though my sister disagrees.  Her whiskers match, stiff...

Chapter 1, The City

It was twilight.  The sun was gently setting, dipping below the serene landscape.  The hills, blackened by its brightness, were prickly with unmowed grass, because the man never cut it, but got paid a fair sum even so.  Clouds passed by in hazy wisps that were turned billowing black in the odd light.  He sat now, in a cafe East of the untrimmed hills.  The splintering wooden sign above the door frame read EAST HILLS CAFE.  It was a fairly odd place, more pub than restaurant, but its lights were on all day.  It was Winten there, in his spare time, which  all the time, and when it was some day special he found Dominicus or Lanzo or Ivor or someone  sitting there too.  And such a day was today.
    “Good day, isn’t it?” said Winten through a mouthful of tangy liquid.  His eyes were oddly bloodshot.  Behind him, the dim stars glittered through the window.  He coughed loudly. ...

People Do

The boy's name was Abram.  A fool's name.  He was slightly tall for his mind, which was very short by normal standards, and had a lot of copper-colored hair that extended past his hairline and into his temples and chin.  His was a very weak chin.
    Funny to think of temples, and their dual meaning.  He slapped the flat sides of his forehead as he thought of them, but he also stood beside a temple, a very abandoned, very crumbled structure, of some ancient religion Abram knew not.  He was a very stupid boy.
    Presently he stepped inside, out of curiosity and merely for the ignorance of it.  Well, he wasn't rightly curious, because "curious" was a term of eagerness and intelligence, and Abram had only the former.
    He was standing beside someone, too.  Someone barely one foot away, but he decided not to comment.  His da said, while he was still living, that...

Birdsong

Whippoorwill

Scratching hard
a cold lump stuck in
your throat, whippoorwill,
whippoorwill, whippoorwill–– Flying now, you're heart's
a dove, whippoorwill, if your throat
can bear it.
Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whipporwill.
See a crow over yonder,
caw, caw,
the clear voice nags at you
Perfect and distinct and full of
trickery.
Blurry now, wings spread over,
whippoorwill, whippoorwill,
and a caw, if you're generous.

Some such bad jokes you don't even know what a joke is anymore

What's brown and sticky?
A stick.

How does a pig write an essay?
With pen and oink.

What's something that's red and bad for your teeth?
A brick.

Did you hear about that noodle chef that died?
He pasta way.

What do you call a fish with no eyes?
A fsh.

What's orange and sounds like a parrot?
A carrot.  

Chirp

Quietly you chirped, as though
to nothing,
your jaw opening and closing
like a window showing your great
pink tongue.

Eraser

When it wasn't right
I erased
Much to your dismay.
You hated the feel of the eraser shavings on your
perfect paper.

I Don't Even Know Anymore

He was stiff and tall and rather like one of the old, dusty boards in the attic.  His skin was pale copper, his eyes much darker, and there was an aura of unpleasantness about him.
    I started the conversation, because the only way to know people is to talk to them, obviously.  "Well, how do you do?  Welcome!  We've been expecting you, of course.  You're right on time.  Could I take your coat, Mr.--?"  Here I paused.  It said on the page somewhere what his name was, but it was all blurry now.
    "Goldburg.  Gary Goldburg," he said, then added, "The second."  He paused at every fragment, breathing in hard from his nostrils.  The fiery end of his cigar was sticking out of his clenched fist.  His crooked knuckles were coated in ash.  "And yes.  You can."
    Slightly surprised, I took his coat, a thick, fur one that was about the same shade and...

The Peace of Wild Things

Forget

 When it hurts too much to think about,
forget;
and as I walk to the field
that smells like clover
and hickory seeds
I imagine this dirt
on which I tread
in a world
long ago.
A world where there were
real things
Things that you bump and
scratch, the wildest of
routines that would one
day loose their regularity and
just be called
natural.
In this place
of clover
and hickory seeds there is no
natural, the plainness of the sight
is a bitterly sweet thing;
simply
sun and shade
and lots of green,
which is
a rare sight.
 

Random Descriptive Piece

    The two girls approached home, eagerly and reluctantly, their schoolbags slung heavily over their shoulders and their faces aglow with the prospect of a fresh autumn.
    Behind them, the cement sidewalks were paved with aged rose petals, crimson leaves, browned ferns, and dirt generated healthily from hundreds of shoe prints.  The sky was a wonderfully dull shade of azure-grey, the temperature hovering around sixty degrees, so that the girls hugged the sleeves of their loose cotton jackets to their arms.
    Adeline was the older of the two, though she was shorter than Rosie, but she walked with the regality of one much more knowledgable in life's aspects.  She carried her stack of books neatly, under her arm, though the weight of the load seemed to be bothering her.  Rosie's face was eager, her awkwardly-cut features full of curiosity and relish for the surroundings.  Her schoolbooks were hugged to her chest sloppily, and occasionally she...

12 Bad Grammar Jokes

1. An exclamation mark and an octothorp sit at a restaurant, talking about their past dates.  The exclamation mark says, "I'll never date another apostrophe; it was too possessive!"  
The octothorp says, "Dude, #Problems."

2. A dangling modifier walks into a bar.  After finishing a drink, the bartender asks it to leave.

3. When comforting a grammar nerd, say softly, "There, their, they're."

4. I like cooking my family and pets.
    Commas matter.

5. The first mate on a pirate ship says, "The cannons be ready, captain."  The captain says, "ARE."

6. At a court case, the person in question says, "I didn't do nuthin'!"  The prosecutor says, "Aha!  A confession!"

7. My English teacher said, "Name two pronouns."  I said, "Who, me?"

8. Knock, knock.
    Who's there?
    To.
    To who?
    Actually, it's 'to whom.'

9. The importance of the Oxford comma:
    I had eggs, toast, and...

Afterlife, ch 8: PERFECT

    The Afterlife.
    Yeah, right.
    All I say is, “The what, exactly?”
    He nods, impatiently.  “Come, young’un, I’ll explain later.”
    “No, I think you’d better explain now.”  I’m rooted to the spot.  Can’t leave.  Not until I figure this out.
    “No.  Later.”  He looks me in the eye.  His blue eyes are piercing, but somber, and again comes his authoritative power, like he’s decades older than I am.
    “Can I ask you something?”  I’m feeling rather reckless.  Cooped up in a hospital bed for a month, dead, a salty two-foot ocean, and now this?  “Why do you call me ‘young’un?’  I’m only four or five years older than you are!”
    “Naivety comes with age, I suppose.”
    Now I’m angry.  If someone doesn’t make any sense, they should at least allow their victim a chance at sorting out the confusion.  His words hit me like a hammer, and I fire up unnecessarily quickly....

Afterlife, ch 7: MAN

I just sit there for a long time.  I am shaking and coughing, and I don’t know why.  I’m not even hurt.  There’s no one in sight, and I don’t know where I am.  But that’s not the scary part.  The scary part is that I’m alone, in a universe that makes no sense.  I’ve supposedly died, and I miss things about life.  I miss things making sense.  I miss Henry, already.  And Jake.  Never spent a day without Jake.
    I’m just so alone.
    I gaze around.  The bizarre ocean is still in front of me.  It’s low tide, and the waves aren’t coming very far up the beach.  Up this weirdly perfect beach.
    “Young man.”
    The voice startles me so much I jump, straight up in the air, like an alert jackrabbit.
    I gaze around in utter terror.  I haven’t heard a single voice since my own death––certainly hearing more can’t be a good...

Afterlife, ch 1: DYING

    I am dying.
    Really and truly dying.
    Everyone has said their last goodbyes; that was the worst part.  The worst part being that there weren’t many to whom to say goodbye.  There was Jake, my best friend.  Henry, my boyfriend.  A few cousins.  But I was born and raised an orphan, and anyway, I was done with college.
    I am currently waiting for the veil to fall over my face--Death, of course.  I feel like I already know Death, because over many occasion the veil has almost fallen.
    The time when I was eight and I was star-gazing on the roof of my foster-home, and I fell off, and only barely survived with my spinal cord intact.
    The time as a nineteen-year-old my friend and I went on a hike up a mountain, till we reached the view, at the top.  There it was, the void of below, with no railings, and my friend...

Riddles

1. You're on the road, and going to New York City, but you don't know the directions very well.  You come across an intersection and don't know which way to turn.  There's a house right at the intersection, and two twin brothers live there.  There are completely identical.  One always tells the truth and one always lies.  When you knock to ask for directions, one will come to the door and allow you to ask one question.  What is one question that both will answer the same, so you can get to New York City?

2. Imagine that you are shipwrecked on a bare island (no trees, vegetation, or clean water) with nothing but a five-inch strand of feeble rope with you.  How do you survive?

3. A man rides into town on a horse on Saturday.  He spends three days there and then goes back home.  However, he rides back on Friday.  How is this possible?

(Scroll down for...

Some of My Favorite Paradoxes

1. A shirt that says, "Make eye contact."

2. I always lie.

3. Okay, class, we're having a surprise test on Thursday!

4. A class is sharing "rose" and "thorn"s.  Someone says, "My rose is that I don't have a thorn and my thorn is that I don't have a rose."

5. This sentence is false.

6. Yes, greedy man gives his cash with sorrow. However, he doesn't have the cash with sorrow, so he gives what he doesn't have.

Afterlife, ch 6: FIXED

    This is bizarre.  So bizarre that again, I remind myself it can't be real.
    I appear to be standing in some sort of shallow, clear ocean.  There’s water up to my thighs, and I have resumed my normal body, except that unlike before, my body feels great.  Healthy.  I flex my arms.  I can feel strong muscles beneath my skin.  I haven’t felt that since the track team in seventh grade.
    It’s not all ocean, either.  There’s a vast, clear, two-feet body of water that is most of what I see, but beyond that, I can see something else.  Something very green, and brown.  It almost looks like land.
    I take a deep breath.  It’s time to start walking, but I haven’t actually walked for about a month.  My ailments didn’t allow me to walk, and before that I was always slightly lame in the right leg.  I always had to have specially modified shoes.  But...

Afterlife, ch 5: WATER

I am standing in two feet of water.  The sun shines overhead.
    My brain, wherever or whatever it is, has gone to sleep.
    Why?  Because this can’t be happening.  It’s a dream.  Or a hallucination.  Or something.  It can’t be real that I just died, and then odd words showed up like I was in a computer game, and now I’m here.  Or that I can blink when I don’t have eyelids.
    The sun is baking my skin.  The air smells of salt, just like it did when I was first dead.
    How odd it is, to sit here in two feet of salty water thinking about death and the afterlife.
    No.  There isn’t an afterlife.  There can’t be.  It defies science.
    Or does it?  Do we have any scientific proof of the dead?  We know the facts: That death is when the body stops working.  The end of life.  We revolve around life....

Afterlife, ch. 4: BLINK

I am stunned.  It must be a dream.  It can’t be real.  I am hallucinating.  Maybe I never died.  Maybe I am insane, and really I am in a mental hospital trying to get a grip on myself.   I am so shocked that I can feel it clogging up my eyesight.  But I don’t have eyesight!  Get a grip, get a grip.
    Blink four times, the message said.
    Hadn’t I already established that I didn’t have eyelids?
    But if I don’t have sight, how could I read the message?
    Very slowly, I try to blink.  To my utter surprise, for a moment, the words vanish.  I blink again.  They vanish again.
    How is this possible if I don’t have eyelids?
    Or do I?
    I blink again, then once more, and the world tips upside down.

Afterlife, ch. 3: BRAINS

I am flying through a world of color and sound, into a present blackness that is closing in on everything.  I am there, but I can’t so much as move my fingers.  I can’t feel myself, and I have the strange sense that I’m not human anymore.  Can you be human in death?
    I have no head to turn, no eyes to blink, no nails to bite, anything.  I don’t even think that I have eyes, because I can’t really see anything.  Well, there are little blurred splashes of some kind of color, but it looks more like the space behind my eyelids than anything interesting.
    Is this death?  No body, and a void of some odd nothingness?
    Death is eternal, so they say.  I will have to look at this nothingness forevermore.
    How come I can think if I don’t have a brain anymore?  How can I get bored if I am dead?  Now that’s...

Afterlife, ch. 2: DEATH

I can feel the blackness before I see it.  It’s like an ocean, and I smell salt.  Patches of nothing blot my blurred vision of the ceiling tiles.  They take over, swirling and expanding, and I can feel it.  A floating piece of something.  Something impossible, not quite solid, almost vapor.  I know it’s the veil.  I’ve felt it before.  I close my eyes.  I need to choose my last words, while I still can.
    I take a deep breath.  The nearest nurse is a few yards away, but if I speak loudly enough he or she will still be able to hear me.
    “GOD BLESS––” I begin, but I can feel my vocal chords starting to fail.  I struggled to get the sounds out.  I start on “th” but I can feel my mouth drying up.  I persist. I can feel my voice cracking.  My entire body is shutting down.
    Now nobody will be able to...

Afterlife, ch 1: DYING

    I am dying.
    Really and truly dying.
    Everyone has said their last goodbyes; that was the worst part.  The worst part being that there weren’t many to whom to say goodbye.  There was Jake, my best friend.  Henry, my boyfriend.  A few cousins that had to visit be for the last time.  But I was born and raised an orphan, and anyway, I was done with college.
    I am currently waiting for the final veil to fall over my face.  The veil being Death, of course.  I feel like I already know Death, because over many occasion the veil has almost fallen.
    The time when I was eight and I was star-gazing on the roof of my foster-home, and I fell off, and only barely survived with my spinal cord intact.
    The time as a nineteen-year-old my friend and I went on a hike up a mountain, till we reached the view, at the...

My Favorite Paradox

I always lie.

Incorrect?
Defies nature
and logic?
Just know
this is my first truth.

Okay,
maybe I do always lie.

Persuasive Piece: My opinion about the Hogwarts Houses and Online Sorting Quizzes (For Potterheads)

This is an article entirely devoted to Harry Potter.  If you have not read Harry Potter, please do not continue to read.
    The Hogwarts Houses, created by JK Rowling, are a fun and creative way to categorize your personality freely, and share a sense of community and belonging with those similar to you.  However, in my opinion, many of the original Houses are recategorized into less realistic concepts.  For example, Slytherin, the House which supposedly carried more dark witches and wizards than any other, is often judged by its tendency to carry Death Eaters.  However, this Muggle world in which we live is, no doubt, extremely different from the invented Wizarding World that takes place in the Harry Potter series.  I have no doubt that there are people as horrible as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and as astonishingly brave as Harry Potter, but the simple fact is that our world is less chaotic than the Wizarding one.  People like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry...

On the Last Day of the World

Runners at Heart

On the last day of the world, I would run a mile
Run a mile
To see
Everything, as far as the land goes
I would run around the world
Three times
And then do it
In the opposite direction.
On the last day of the world, I would plant a tree
Plant a tree
To grow
A new abundance
Of rare specimens
I would plant a million trees
And a million more,
And water them
three times more.
On the last day of the world, I would have a wish
Have a wish
That was
If the world should end,
We should all be happy
In our resting place
And in our spirits
Run halfway around the galaxy,
And then the other halfway
Until we were
Runners at heart.

Tongue on Fire

I had never tasted anything quite like it before.  My tongue was on fire; no, my entire mouth was on fire.  Each flame sent sparks flying, each spark manifested itself deep into my taste buds and began to burn some more.  I could barely breath.  I seized a cup of water, the ice sliding against my burning lips, and felt a moment of relaxation.  I put the glass down again, and again it began to flame up.  Huge, great flames. The whole universe must be feeling it.
    "Are jalepenos always this bad?" I coughed, spluttering through chunks of ice as I again raised the glass to my lips.
    "Jalepenos?" Jack looked at me like I was crazy.  "Dude, that's sourdough!"

Why I Write

Why I Write

    I write because there are some things I can only describe through text.  I write because it paints a picture: a beautiful picture of words, that will never be tattered or ripped or worn away the way paintings are.  I write because like a painting every time you come back you can see something wonderful, a tiny little detail you never noticed before.
    

Omniscient Lens

Water Collage

The water was crisp and and cold and rippled as a fresh layer of azure paint.  Exactly what was disturbing it, I couldn't be sure.  Something lurking deep in its depths, probably.  I leaned forward.  It gave off a good smell, like dirt and slime and autumn.  My reflection peered back at me as I did this, a distorted image swimming on the surface of the water, all of it tinted gray from the water.  Other reflections were pasted there too: I could see the clouds, the distant trees, and the dirty bottoms of my boots as their toes hung off of the dock.  I could see part of the dock too: the reflected stiff wooden posts eventually joining with the real ones, all in the water.  The water was like some sort of fantastical collage, where everything was glued: the trees and the sky and the ground, and even my shoes.  I leaned over it.  Now my face was...

Dialogue Dexterity

Conversation

    The news lies open on the table, so I know at least that one person is home.  I set down my belongings, pull my hat off my head, and scratch the cat behind the ears.
    "Wilson!" I call.  My voice is slightly raspy; it's been a long day.
    My brother appears at the top of the stairs.
    "What?" he asks.  His untidy mop of hair is covering his eyes.  He has his headphones on again.
    "Nothing," I say, but I'm pleased to see him.  His face is the only carefree one I've seen all day.
    "Well, why did you call me down?"  Through the tufts of hair, I can see he's annoyed.
    "No reason."
    "Well, what was the point?"  Wilson starts back up the stairs.  He's never happy until he's had his 6 pm cup of coffee.
    "Oh, come on.  Don't use the headphones." ...

Third Person Limited

Woman

    She was a crooked figure, bent by age or perhaps something more sinister.  The corners of her mouth were drawn tight, though wrinkles had loosened most of her stern face.  Only her eyes remained hard.  She sat now, a ragged, patched sweater drawn over her skeleton-like body, a once strong figure that now looked so wispy and unstable a gust of wind might have blown her off of her perch of the stone steps of the library.  To every person that passed, she muttered only one word: "Bless," as though she were trying to say "God bless you," the way a kindly person might, but couldn't quite get all the words out.  Even she wasn't sure why she was bothering; she didn't want the strangers' money, or sympathy, or anything.  She did not have a home, it was true (well, unless you counted the library), but she did not want anything to do with the few bits of metal...

Writing Small

Fire

    Fire seems only to spread, and never to die.
    Perhaps someday the entire world will be engulfed in great crimson tongues.  Greedy tongues, that can only gobble things down and throw ash back up.
    Perhaps the entire thing started with one matchstick, that was struck and spread and never died.

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A Series of Monostitches to Tell 1 Story by Surly Wombat

Published about 2 months ago

The City Come-of-Age by Pocahontas

Published 3 months ago

Blue by RainAndSonder

Published 2 months ago

Dear Future Self by RainAndSonder

Published about 2 months ago

Betrayal by Aden

Published about 2 months ago

Chemtrails of Love by Rae A

Published 3 months ago

Monostiches by Rae A

Published about 2 months ago

Stand Out by Laika

Published about 2 months ago

Monostiches by WishfulKittyKat1

Published about 2 months ago

Statistically by WishfulKittyKat1

Published about 2 months ago

One-line Poems by Dani A. Remlap

Published about 2 months ago

Basketball by RainAndSonder

Published 2 months ago

From Spring Comes Summer by aneciathewriter824

Published about 2 months ago

Out of spite by aneciathewriter824

Published about 2 months ago

You by Laika

Published about 2 months ago

Acrostic by RainAndSonder

Published about 2 months ago

March by Calliope

Published about 2 months ago

Selfcare by Calliope

Published about 2 months ago

Goodnight by ARSauble

Published about 2 months ago

USA by chryos

Published 6 months ago

​One With the Wind by Laika

Published 4 months ago

The STS Conscience by RainAndSonder

Published about 2 months ago

​Four Monostitches by casual.ties

Published about 2 months ago

Wonder by Aussie23

Published 7 months ago

10 things I look for in a person by Aussie23

Published 4 months ago

Each Other by Aussie23

Published 3 months ago

Anything by Aussie23

Published 3 months ago

We're Closer Than We Think by Sarah Naz

Published about 2 months ago

​a suburban summer by booksandcoffee

Published 2 months ago

The STS Conscience by RainAndSonder

Published 2 months ago

Cat and Mouse by RainAndSonder

Published 12 months ago

Six Feet Under by MyShotPotter

Published 3 months ago

Best Work? by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

Her by LuciferRising

Published 4 months ago

Marching For Gender Equality by emily01

Published 3 months ago

Nostalgia by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

Remember? by RainAndSonder

Published 2 months ago

Honeysuckle Evenings by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

I Am Strong by Gabriel Goodwin

Published 3 months ago

Love in 13 words by Surly Wombat

Published 3 months ago

Burning World by Surly Wombat

Published 3 months ago

That Unspoken Thing (Song) by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

Wet Socks by Mina Lee

Published over 2 years ago

The Depths of the Mind by Wordsarelikecolors

Published 3 months ago

Circle of Life by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

Mother and Son by RainAndSonder

Published 3 months ago

Recipe For Friendship by Ellenrbnsn

Published over 2 years ago

Love in 13 Words by PurpleFly101

Published 3 months ago

i was the moon by Plausible.Poems

Published 3 months ago

Blasts and Bolts by Plausible.Poems

Published 3 months ago

Fuel by Plausible.Poems

Published 3 months ago

Lora by A Breath Into Silence

Published 3 months ago

Sunset by -dreaming-

Published 3 months ago

In the Deep by -dreaming-

Published 3 months ago

Chenquin by Kahasai

Published 3 months ago

Blood Sisters by Ella Syverson

Published 3 months ago

​Always by Vanilla

Published 3 months ago

Rust by krillinthehotdog

Published 4 months ago

Color Your Week by ARSauble

Published 4 months ago

Missing Piece by Nononovy

Published 4 months ago

My Heart by Writer?

Published 4 months ago

30 Day Disney Challenge by -Foxmillionaire-

Published 4 months ago

Through a door by Gentheslayer

Published 4 months ago

Day 7- Relationship With Sleep by RainAndSonder

Published 5 months ago

Wish upon a Robin’s call by emisanchez91

Published 5 months ago

​Dear Sister by Maggie Mills

Published 5 months ago

Life by sal

Published 5 months ago

Last Man On Earth by RainAndSonder

Published 6 months ago

Walking Angel by Dani A. Remlap

Published 5 months ago

Concrete Dream by Opened_Mind

Published 5 months ago

On the Boulevard by Opened_Mind

Published 5 months ago

Runaways. by Your Alien Author.

Published 5 months ago

Why I Write by Diagonelly56

Published 5 months ago

Destiny by Akash

Published 5 months ago

What Do They Say? by *~. Audrey .~*

Published 5 months ago

Tomorrow by Laika

Published 6 months ago

I Miss Her by ARSauble

Published 5 months ago

Relicten by novelistinthedark

Published 5 months ago

Like Everything Else by Tequilamockingbird22

Published 5 months ago

Shooting Star by mysterious_writer13

Published 5 months ago

The Elephant by camlily

Published 5 months ago

Flizzennugget by Aspen Gray

Published 5 months ago

​Hummingbird by Aspen Gray

Published 6 months ago

Perspective by Aspen Gray

Published 5 months ago

If Only by Chari

Published 6 months ago

Never by korra4life

Published 6 months ago

land the waste. by chryos

Published 6 months ago

The Home I'm Familiar With by Gabriel Goodwin

Published 6 months ago

Silks Burn by Zoe G.

Published 6 months ago

An Ode to Umbrellas by Elizabeth Bennet

Published 6 months ago

The Sun And His Friend by Clare B

Published 6 months ago

The Ghost Children by RainAndSonder

Published 6 months ago

The Dream- Flashover by RainAndSonder

Published 6 months ago

pompeii by you need to gogh

Published 6 months ago

HAPPY THANKSGIVING by WhiltiernaWolfLord

Published 6 months ago

Writer's Block by RainAndSonder

Published 12 months ago

Heart by Flex!

Published 7 months ago

warm by you need to gogh

Published 7 months ago

Names for Nature by kayleyy.lc

Published 7 months ago

​The Circle Of Freedom by GalacticNerd

Published 9 months ago

My Friend by Thomas Schuberth

Published 6 months ago

The Two Shades of Life by Clare B

Published 6 months ago

Little Sparrow by Quilling Leaves

Published 6 months ago

i wish for a world. by † Skyward Bound †

Published 7 months ago

Raven's Hurrah by † Skyward Bound †

Published 6 months ago

Headphones by Ari27

Published 6 months ago

15 Strange Wishes by RainAndSonder

Published 7 months ago

Confusion by KaylaM78

Published 9 months ago

Pine Cones by ourfeetareholdinghands

Published about 1 year ago

The Tang of Blood by Vanilla

Published 8 months ago

The Animal Children by Aaliyah

Published 7 months ago

Drip by ollieollie

Published 7 months ago

16 Years of Being by emmapatterson13

Published 8 months ago

On the Last Day of the World by emmapatterson13

Published 7 months ago

For Forever by Rhapsodic Redhead

Published 7 months ago

Extremely Random Piece by RainAndSonder

Published 7 months ago

100?! by BlueWriter

Published 7 months ago

The World Has Ceased to Exist by ana-writes-14

Published 7 months ago

The Lightning Society by WhiltiernaWolfLord

Published 7 months ago

Read! by Aussie23

Published 7 months ago

His Life by squid_inks

Published 7 months ago

Little Dreamer by japaneseprincess

Published 7 months ago

Impulse by Christine Tu

Published 7 months ago

Five Sentences by RainAndSonder

Published 7 months ago

Peace by Mitsuri

Published 7 months ago

Autumn by ARSauble

Published 7 months ago

On the Last Day of the World by ARSauble

Published 7 months ago

I Am by WhiltiernaWolfLord

Published 7 months ago

Masterpieces by WhiltiernaWolfLord

Published 8 months ago

i smile by fun.

Published 11 months ago

After It Ends (Pt. 1) by Korai

Published 8 months ago

Memories by kssn37

Published 9 months ago

Dead Rain by kssn37

Published 7 months ago

Walking Down the Aisle by theresafrance

Published 8 months ago

Your Only Chance by Korai

Published 8 months ago

The Hole in the Sky by Korai

Published 8 months ago

Encounter On The Streets by Korai

Published 8 months ago

To trees and to life by Shanti

Published 10 months ago

Hero Of Time by -Foxmillionaire-

Published 7 months ago

Wishing Well by Desiree

Published 7 months ago

Words by Desiree

Published 9 months ago

Long Walks and Coffee Shops by nmallaghan

Published 8 months ago

Future Goodbyes by nmallaghan

Published 7 months ago

The End of All Things by nmallaghan

Published 7 months ago

To Sea by Lucy_Cerys

Published 7 months ago

Winter to Spring by Kaitlyn ❄

Published 7 months ago

1-3 Sentence Stories by RainAndSonder

Published 8 months ago

! by RedWriter

Published 7 months ago

spin by you need to gogh

Published 7 months ago

I'm Working on the Title by RainAndSonder

Published 7 months ago

Death of a Sun by RainAndSonder

Published 7 months ago

Faithfully Always by Lucy_Cerys

Published 7 months ago

Lost by korra4life

Published 7 months ago

136 Likes from Others

Life On A Hillside

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100 Followers!!!

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In The Summertime

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Snow Clouds

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Night Sky

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Do Not Die

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Snow Clouds

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05/17/18

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05/17/18

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Best Weekend

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Sparks

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Northern Lights

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I'm The Person

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Razor-Sharp Knives

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Thank You

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You Are Fire

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Worlds

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My Childhood Thoughts

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Hear Me

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Testing

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Small Cracks of Lava

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Mercy

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Schedule

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Streetlights

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Blanket

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School Memories

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A Blessing

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The End of the World

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Blue World

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Blue World

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Shattered, Still Beating

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Canvas

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Love As We Know It

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Three Wishes (Random Thing)

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Shoulder

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Time

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Twitch

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- RANDOM FICTION -

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Humanity

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Despite Everything

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Turning

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Summer

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My Refuge

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Black Hole

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Snow

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Water Collage

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And Forgiveness

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Marching

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An Apparition at the Closet

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Just

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Summer

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Raindrops

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Breaking Away, Chapter 1

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Robin

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In January

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Breaking Away, Prologue

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Breaking Away, Chapter 2

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Snow

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Late America, Part One

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Ode To A Stray Cat On My Porch

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Crimson

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Ivy

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My New Year's Resolutions

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Loneliness

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Ivy

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Cat

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Book

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Wild

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Snowflake

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Crimson

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Crimson

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Tears

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Peace?

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untitled

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Street

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unflourished

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A Writing Piece?????

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Smoke

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Facts/Opinions About Me

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Things

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My Favorite Paradox

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Fire

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Some of My Favorite Paradoxes

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12 Bad Grammar Jokes

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Sewing

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Music Is

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Things

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Some Things I Am Thankful For

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People Do

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me

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Random

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Loneliness

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Afterlife, ch 8: PERFECT

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Afterlife, ch 6: FIXED

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Afterlife, ch 5: WATER

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Afterlife, ch. 4: BLINK

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Whippoorwill

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Chirp

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Forget

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Random Descriptive Piece

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Something Completely Random

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Leaf

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Snoring in Class

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Art Class

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Tuesdays

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Riddles

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Lights Out

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Seeing

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Woman

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Afterlife, ch 7: MAN

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Afterlife, ch. 3: BRAINS

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Afterlife, ch. 2: DEATH

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Afterlife, ch 1: DYING

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Runners at Heart

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Tongue on Fire

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Good neighbor

We like your photo and your biography.

Earned 7 months ago


Pro reviewer

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You're following over thirty other writers!

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You're being followed by over five other writers!

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Woah. You've published ONE HUNDRED PIECES!!

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You've gone live!

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You really are prolific - you've published over ten pieces already.

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Love your work - you've read and favorited over ten pieces published by others

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Very nicely done - you've got over ten favorites.

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